


Eddies

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk sustains a head injury in an ambush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eddies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ K/S Advent Calendar challenge of 2010, Prompt #17. See End Notes for further prompt info. Many thanks to my husband for the beta.

  
"Spock, behind you!"

"Jim!"

Pain.

Eyes lock.

Whiteness.

Searing, bright blackness.

*****

 _"I don't know, Spock. The blast centered on the cerebral cortex. Only time will...."_

Swirling blackness.

 _"Doctor, I have come to ask—"_

 _"I've told you a thousand times, Spock, I don't know." The doctor's voice sounds weary, miles away._

 _"That is unacceptable, Doctor. I must know when the Captain will—"_

 _"I'm a doctor, not a fortune teller!" Desperate, now._

 _"Very well. I shall return when my shift is over."_

 _"Great."_

Gray eddies in black waves.

 _"Spock, you're not doing him any good by killing yourself."_

 _"I am not in difficulty." Spock doesn't sound good._

 _"The hell you aren't! Ah! Before you start in on me, I'm not telling you to leave. I'm just pointing out that nice bed I had the nurse make up for you right there. That way, you can sleep, and you can let me know if Jim wakes up, 'cause I'm going to bed."_

 _"That is acceptable."_

 _Footsteps. A door swishes open. Closed._

 _"Jim. Come back. Please."_

Grayness.

 _"How's he doing?"_

 _"His readings are within normal parameters."_

 _"In other words, same as always."_

 _"I ... yes."_

 _"So when do you think he'll come around?" The doctor is being cruel._

 _"I cannot say."_

 _"Welcome to my world, Spock." The doctor doesn't sound so cruel, after all._

 _A hand claps a shoulder. Jim can see it in his mind's eye, but his real ones are useless. Clamped shut._

 _"I'm going to bed. Have a good night, Spock."_

 _"Good night, Doctor."_

 _The doctor leaves._

 _The bed dips, though Jim doesn't know how he knows this._

 _"Jim. Please come back." Grayness starts to swirl. "I miss you."_

*****

"Jim? Jim! Well I'll be! It's about time you woke up!"

Jim smiled up into McCoy's face. "Hi, Bones. Did you miss me?"

"How could I miss you when you've been taking up space in my sickbay for the last two weeks?"

Jim started to sit up.

McCoy pressed him back to the bed. "Not so fast! You and that damn fool idea of yours got you ambushed with a focused, ionizing blast to the cerebral cortex. Pretty damned impressive for a race with the technological knowledge of nineteenth-century Earth, but you aren't moving without an assistant for the next five days."

"Five days? Bones, that's inhuman!"

"Five days is a bargain, Captain. And if you fight with me, I can make it ten."

"I've got to get to the Bridge ... ohh...."

"And you can make it two weeks if you keep trying that, or maybe another coma."

"All right, all right, I'll cooperate! But I feel fine! Mostly...."

"Great. You can tell that to your assistant." McCoy jerked his thumb at the door. "I've got work to do."

Jim followed McCoy's retreating figure, his spirits soaring when he saw Spock standing in the doorway. "Spock!"

Spock hesitated a moment.

Jim gazed at him and smiled, gesturing. "Come on in. Have a seat."

Spock came in and perched on the edge of the bed. "Good afternoon, Captain."

Jim's smile widened. "Not exactly a display that brings the house down, but I'll take it." He patted Spock's hand. "It's good to see you, Spock. Last time I saw your face, I thought it'd be, well, the last time I saw your face. How've you been?"

"If you are referring to the ambush on Zinthra V, I am ... largely recovered from the minor injuries I sustained."

"'Largely' recovered? That doesn't sound so minor to me."

McCoy bustled through the room. "Broken collar bone, two cracked ribs, hairline fracture of the left clavicle, mild flexion-compression dislocation of the sternum, sprained knee, various bruises and contusions." He poked his head back around the door. "Oh, and a slight concussion." He nodded once and left.

"'Minor injuries'? Spock, what happened?"

The story was a blur of weapons blasts and rocks and hard places and Jim found his head spinning. As Spock described the impact of his clavicle and head against the boulder and the effect of the ionizing blast on his central nervous system when it missed his head and hit his left foot instead, Jim sat up and reached for him – as much for steadiness as for comfort. "Spock...."

Spock caught Jim's shoulders and eased him back down to the bed. "I am all right, Jim." He supported Jim's head and adjusted the pillow under it, letting his hand linger in a caress. "Dr. McCoy says that exertion is inadvisable at this time," he murmured, his face very close to Jim's.

Kissably close.

Jim put a hand on Spock's face. "I thought you were going to die. I couldn't get to you."

"I thought the same of you," said Spock, his voice rougher than usual. "Welcome back, Jim."

There was a commotion in the main area of Sickbay, and McCoy thundered back into the room just as Spock sat up and pulled away. "Jim, I need you out of here."

"Doctor, the Captain is in no condition to walk."

"I know that, Spock! You're his assistant until further notice. I don't care if you have to carry him, use intra-ship beaming or get him on an anti-grav unit, just get him out of here! I need the space."

Spock walked to the wall and started speaking with quiet urgency into the comm unit.

"What happened, Bones?"

"More trouble on that damn fool planet down there. Seems one of the security guards shot somebody's pet and caused a diplomatic incident. And before you start runnin' up to the Bridge and playin' the cowboy hero, Spock and Admiral Nogura have been handling it just fine."

"And by 'just fine', you mean...?"

"He means that we are breaking orbit, Captain," said Spock. "Starfleet has determined that the risks of encouraging contact with the inhabitants outweigh the benefits by four hundred thirty-seven point six to one."

Jim ran a hand through his hair at the odds and winced hard when his fingers made contact with a large hematoma. "Makes you wonder why the hell they sent us here in the first place," he grumbled.

"Indeed," said Spock, looking – gazing – at Jim's eyes.

"If you two are finished playing long-lost lovers, I've got three injured crewmen vying for that bed," said McCoy.

"We aren't—"

"Even if you aren't finished, go do it someplace else! Like your quarters, maybe, or Spock's!"

There was more commotion in the other area of Sickbay.

"Now get out of here, both of you! I'll come check on you when I've finished putting half your crew back together."

"Spock, I can walk—"

"No, you can't!" Spock and McCoy looked at each other and then at Jim.

"Wow! You two never do that."

"Captain, there are no gurneys or mobile chairs available, so I shall have to carry you. I've cleared the necessary corridors for the requisite amount of time, but we must hurry."

"That's what I've been saying," muttered McCoy.

"All right, Bones, we're going."

"If I may, Captain...?"

"Spock," said Jim, as he held his arm in position to hook it over Spock's shoulder, "if you're going to carry me over at least two thresholds, you should probably call me Jim."

"Yes, sir." Spock lifted Jim as though he weighed no more than a child.

Jim shook his head. "I give up." He joined his hands over Spock's shoulder. "Home, Jeeves."

"'Jeeves'?"

"It's a joke, Spock. For reference, you can look up Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse in the Library Computer. Earth writer of the early twentieth century."

"Thank you, Jim."

Jim rubbed Spock's shoulder fondly. "Any time."

"OUT!" yelled McCoy.

"We're going!" shouted Jim as Spock carried him out the door.

The journey to Jim's quarters was odd. Despite Spock's statement about clearing the corridors, Jim had expected a person or two along the way. Instead there was an eerie quiet over the thrum of the ship's engines. It felt odd to be cocooned this way, wrapped in Spock's arms, his feet not touching the floor, nothing but the sound of their breathing and Spock's footsteps. He became aware of a strange sense of loss, as though he really just wanted human contact after so long away from it, and a sudden, deep ache overwhelmed him. "God, I missed you!" He'd thought he'd meant it about the whole crew, but realized slowly that he hadn't. Didn't. Not really. Not as much as he wanted to.

"As I did thee."

"Spock..." Jim stroked Spock's silken hair.

And then they were kissing. It was everything that Jim had dreamed and never dared express, deep and perfect and hot, and he drowned in it.

There was a whirl of motion as Spock carried him through his door, and he didn't know how they got there, but they were naked. Spock must have stripped them both with lightning speed, and Jim wished he could remember it.

Spock was on him. Under him. In him. Through him. Enclosing him. Holding him. Permeating him. Whispering, speaking, crying out, being silent, _thinking_ to him.

Jim cried out as he felt orgasm rip through him into Spock, onto Spock, into mouth and onto tight, sweaty skin. He cried out again as he felt Spock come inside him, against his cock, into his mouth, into his hand and over his chest and stomach. Ache after ache eased and sated, a lifetime of loneliness assuaged. "I love you!"

"As I do thee." Spock kissed him into oblivion.

*****

Grayness. Lightening. Swirling. Dangerous.

 _"I'm sorry, Spock. I don't know what more I can do." The doctor – Bones – sounds tired, at the end of things. Watery._

 _"I understand, Doctor." Spock sounds strained, weary. Raspy._

 _"Look, I'll let you stay with him for the night. Say your goodbyes. I'll need to do that in the morning...." The doctor's voice wobbles. "I'm sorry, Spock."_

 _"It is all right, Bones."_

 _Jim does not think he has ever heard that name in Spock's voice. He also feels upset about something, but can't quite place it._

 _There is a sound of something like paper tearing. He hasn't heard that in so long that he wonders where he is._

 _It happens again, and he recognizes it now as sniffling. Someone's got a cold. Or maybe they're crying. Bones is crying. He can't remember when Bones cried._

 _"Doctor." Spock's voice is gentle, which is unusual when he uses that word. "Do not grieve."_

 _Is something about to happen to Spock? Jim thinks this is a very bad idea. He tries to feel around the brightening grayness, but he can't move._

 _"How can you say that?" Bones is angry – really angry. Something must be terribly wrong._

 _"Because I have no other choice." Spock sounds awful. He's going to come to blows with Bones if Jim doesn't interfere._

 _But Jim still can't see them. He can't see anything except that painful, too-bright grayness. He tries to reach out – stretches himself out to every corner of his body, but he can't move, can't speak, can't see. And then there is_

PAIN. Brightness swirling in the bright gray.

BRIGHT. Pain eddying in grayness.

 _Spock is sitting beside him, holding his hand._

 _He knows it's Spock because he can smell him, because he can feel him through the touch of his hand. And then he remembers. He pulls himself back from all the corners of his body and concentrates in one spot where he remembers Spock touching him and cries out with all his strength, 'Spock!'_

Whiteness. Dizzying, dazzling whiteness.

LOUD. There is NOISE. There is BRIGHT. There is PAIN.

Where is the blackness?

"NO, Jim!"

Two of them. Two of them crying out with one voice.

They hurt. They make PAIN.

He can feel his hand. He sends himself out to the corner he knows as HAND and feels Spock. Spock.

Spock.

"SPOCK!"

And he is awake, eyes closed against the WHITE and there is too much noise and it's too bright and somehow he realizes that his shout was a whisper, after all, and now he feels TIME as a weight and a force and wonders how his heart is beating and where all the pain went.

 _Blackness. Peaceful, quiet blackness. Eyes moving under lids. Dreams. Alpha. REM. Sleep. "Merry Christmas, Jim." Bones sounds teary but happy. Spock still has his hand._

 _Spock. It was a dream. It didn't happen. It's swirling away from his mind._

 _Loss._

 _Sleep._

*****

Jim wakes up feeling like he's been knocked on his ass by Finnegan for the thirty-seventh time in twelve hours. _Merry Christmas, Jim?_ That had to have been a dream, he thinks. If he was out for two weeks, then Christmas is still more than a month away.

Spock. The sex was—

"Good morning, Captain."

"Spock." Jim's voice barely registers. He looks around to see his very proper, very Vulcan First Officer standing three feet from his bed.

"I am ... very pleased to see you awake." Spock's voice is tight.

Jim smiles. Tries to smile. He realizes his muscles aren't working when he tries to send his hand out to Spock, but it only twitches on the bed.

Spock's shoulders twitch, releasing his arms from behind his back. His hand seems to be drifting edgily towards Jim's—

"Well, look who's rejoined the living!" McCoy beams at Jim.

Spock's arms retreat to their original position as he glances at the wall in front of him and takes just one, irritated breath.

Jim tries to reach for Spock and mouth off at McCoy, but all he can manage is another inch of movement from his hand and a rather anemic croak.

"Don't try to move or talk a whole lot, Jim. You've been out for quite a while."

Jim tries lifting his head. It doesn't go as well as it did in the dream. He gives up and mouths, 'How long?'

"Hello to you, too." McCoy runs the diagnostic – what is it called, again? – tool over Jim and looks between it and the display above Jim's head. "Okay, I think we can risk a small neural stimulant. You should be able to make your mouth work better, which you'll need for eating – I won't restrict your calories, but I'll punish you if you make yourself sick – but you're going to have trouble with aphasia for the next few days, and your voice is going to sound like you haven't talked in six weeks." McCoy presses the hypo against his upper arm.

Tingling. Nerves firing. His body doesn't have corners, after all. Not really. "Ohhhhhhh, that, um ... stings?" Jim feels for his throat.

"I warned you."

Jim eyes McCoy. "How long?"

"Seven weeks, three days, sixteen hours, twelve minutes and thirty-eight point three-three-seven-four seconds," Spock intones.

Jim hears the fervency, despite Spock's control. Thinks he hears it, he amends.

And then the actual numbers swing in from around the back of his head and hit him squarely in the frontal lobe. "What?"

"Merry Christmas, Jim!" McCoy beams at him.

"Zinthra ... Christmas...."

"We are no longer in orbit around Zinthra V, Captain. My report on the matter is available at your convenience—"

"Thank you."

"And the crew wishes to convey their hope that you have an enjoyable Christmas."

Jim swallows, hoping that it will clear his voice and cover his confusion. He gives up on both. "Christmas?"

"Yep." – McCoy

"Yes." – Spock

"Have—" Jim swallows again, trying desperately to get his voice under control.

Spock glances at McCoy before collecting a tumbler of water from the synthesizer. He sits on the edge of the bed and helps Jim to a half-sitting position, supporting him.

"Sip it slowly, Jim," McCoy admonishes, "And be careful about swallowing."

Jim is warmed as Spock nods simultaneously and hands him the water.

Spock supports him as he drinks. It is tender and reminds Jim of his dream. "Have I been here the whole time?" He takes another drink, hoping that his voice gets stronger.

"Yeah, except for when I had to evict you for that damn-fool incident on Zinthra V. You spent about three days in your quarters—"

"Two days, fourteen hours, fifty-three minutes and twenty-seven point eight-two seconds," Spock supplies.

"—with Spock attending to your every whim while I put twenty-five crewmen back together after one of them shot some idiot's pet dragon. Not that you had a lot of whims, at the time."

Spock's eyebrow rises, ever so slightly.

"You want me out of here again, right?" For once, Jim isn't anxious to leave Sickbay, and isn't sure why.

"Nope." McCoy grins and bounces on his toes. "You're my only patient, so you get to keep me company for a while."

Jim glances at Spock and settles back, encountering Spock's arm instead of the pillow he expected. He is grateful that Spock helps him down and removes himself gently, allowing the fantasy that he doesn't necessarily want to withdraw. He smiles at Spock, not daring to say anything as he tries to put his fantasy back in its box and lock it up. And then he turns the smile on McCoy. "Do I get a little Christmas cheer, Bones?"

"Let's see how you do on your first round of physical therapy and another round of neural stimulant in a couple of hours."

"And then you'll break out the Wild Turkey?"

"And then I'll have some of that while you get half a glass of non-alcoholic eggnog."

"I never should've woken up," Jim grumbles.

*****

Seven hours later, Jim is back in his quarters. He didn't have to be carried there, for which he is inordinately grateful. He doesn't have to have an attendant, another point of gratitude. But he's also not allowed on the Bridge, which he finds almost unbearable, even though he knows full well that he's not ready to be there, yet. And he's not allowed to go to the Christmas party – too much alcohol there, Bones said, and alcohol's bad for a brain that's just come out of a seven-week coma.

He's lonely. Not a big surprise for the captain of a starship, but this is worse. He can't stop thinking of his dream of joining with Spock, and being confined by himself to his quarters isn't helping that, not one bit. He's been fighting his feelings for Spock for more than two years, and that dream hasn't helped his cause. Nor has the fact that Spock is his best friend, but at least that's an issue of long standing.

He sighs. The loneliness is bad tonight, even though there is a tiny, perfect Christmas tree in a corner of his room, courtesy of Lieutenant Uhura and the rest of the crew. In a way, perhaps that makes things even worse as it shines in the dim light of his cabin. It makes him think of the party in the Officer's Mess, and reminds him of all that he can't have this night. Crew off-limits and family so many light years away – those who still live.

And Spock.

The dream-sex was incredible – literally, he realizes now – but it's the loss of belonging that now leaves him utterly bereft. He loves Spock, of course. He has almost from the beginning. But the brilliance of perfect sex with the man he cares about more than anything else in the universe pales beside the effect of feeling his loneliness swept completely away for even a nanosecond only to have it sweep back in as a tidal wave crashing over him. He reels under it, knowing that he must stop thinking about it and just lock it away in a sturdier box.

But he can't. Not yet. It's too much, and no amount of chain or heaviness of lock would keep it secured. Besides, he can always call Bones, if he needs someone to keep him company.

The door buzzer digs into his reverie. "Come!" His voice is almost back to normal. Just a little weak. The unsteadiness is due to emotion, and he'll overcome it by the time his visitor—"Spock!" He clears his throat. "What can I do for you?"

Spock stops at the clipped inquiry.

Jim shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Spock. I ... still don't have total control over my voice. Come in. Have a seat." He waves to the visitor's chair.

Spock stays where he is, hands behind his back. "Since Doctor McCoy would not allow you to attend the annual festivities, it was necessary to bring this to your quarters at the appropriate time." He holds out a smallish, wrapped cuboid.

The parcel is heavy, denser than Jim was expecting. "Wow! I'm ... I don't have anything for you, I'm afraid. We didn't get to Starbase Twelve. At least, not while I was conscious."

"There is no need for concern. The gift is only mine to deliver, not to give." There is a thick pause. "I have already been appropriately gratified for the season. Your return to consciousness was all that I sought." Spock's hands have returned to hiding behind his back.

Jim's heart thuds hard within his chest. When he can open his mouth without worrying about Spock hearing his predicament, he moves toward his office. "I have to sit down. Please pull up a chair, Spock." He is not happy with the pleading in his voice. "Unless you need to leave." He sits heavily in his chair and starts to open the present. He tries to mute his sigh of relief when Spock takes the visitor's chair across the desk.

There is a dome-shaped object inside the outer box, wrapped with a thin layer of tissue paper. Real paper. Jim thinks he should stop, that he won't be able to keep it together when he finishes unwrapping it, because he knows what it is. But Spock went to great lengths to get this for him, so he keeps going. He can always blame his emotional outburst on the remnants of his coma.

The card between the dome and its box will be the hardest to open. But he does:

>   
> _Dear Jim,_
> 
>  _When Mr. Spock sent his annual greetings last year, he mentioned that you seemed a little homesick, and that you might appreciate something that reminded you of home at Christmas time. His message arrived just when I was making these, so I put one up for you, Wild Turkey and all. By the time it gets to you, it should be just right for eating, give or take a day or two._
> 
>  _You know Mr. Spock. He'll say that he's just the delivery boy, but don't let him get away with it. He's pulled a lot of strings to get this to you, so you owe him a hug, a drink, a good game of chess, or whatever it is that he'll take from you. (He never does tell me what he wants, but I know he doesn't like Wild Turkey!)_
> 
>  _Merry Christmas, Jim. I'll look forward to our yearly subspace chat._
> 
>  _Love, Mom_

Jim blinks back tears as he thumbs the card and puts it on his desk. He keeps his eyes down as he pulls the dome out of the box. He pulls the tissue off of it. "It's the pudding basin she always gave me when I was growing up. I'll have to find a way to get it back to her in time for ... whenever the next possible Christmas is." He can't hide the tears now, so he palms them off his face with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry, Spock. You don't have to stay for this." He puts the pudding on the desk.

"There is no need for concern."

Jim looks up to find the closest thing to open affection he has yet seen in Spock's face. "You correspond with my mother?"

"It is more that she sought contact with me. It did not seem wise to refuse such an honor."

Jim throws his head back and laughs. "Winona Kirk never took any prisoners."

"She did not threaten me with harm. I have found her a most stimulating correspondent."

Jim shakes his head. "I don't want to know."

Spock nods. "She once mentioned something to that effect."

Jim laughs a little and then sobers. "Thank you, Spock. This means a lot to me."

"I am only delivering it, per your mother's instructions." Spock turns the pudding basin, looking at the patterns on it.

"She told me you'd say something like that." Jim pats the card. "But it won't work this time." It's not a long distance from the card to Spock's hand, but Jim resists, just the same. Even though his hand twitches.

Spock shifts a little, and it seems as though his nearest arm moves a fraction of a millimeter.

"Spock—"

"Jim, I—"

"You first...."

"It is your prerogative to—"

Jim pushes ahead. "I missed you."

"As I did you."

Jim reaches towards Spock's hand.

Spock freezes. "Jim. During your coma, I ... became aware of certain ... feelings you might have for me."

It is Jim's turn to freeze. "Explain."

"When McCoy ordered you to be taken to your quarters, I carried you. Unfortunately, I failed to block the input from the touch. You appeared to be dreaming...."

"Oh ... ohmigod. Spock, I didn't mean to ... I'm sorry." Jim sighs in mortification, hoping it covers his world tumbling down around him. He wonders if he is about to wake up again. He hopes hard, almost shutting his eyes as he pulls his hand back to his side of the desk.

"Then ... you do not harbor such feelings for me?"

Jim looks up at the hint of trouble in Spock's voice. "I don't...." It's so tempting to lie, to tell Spock that what he had touched was the result of brain damage. "I'm sorry, Spock. I wish I could say I didn't, but I do."

There is a life-stopping silence, and then Spock releases a breath. "I am relieved."

Jim looks up. "You're what?"

"I, too, harbor ... feelings."

Jim's heart can't find a rhythm.

"For you," Spock adds, as though it is ripped from him.

"What—" Jim swallows. "What do you want to do about it?"

"I w—" Spock swallows, now. "I wish to explore the ... possibilities."

Jim unlocks his muscles and reaches across the desk, hand open, palm up.

Spock hesitates only a moment before setting his own hand in Jim's.

The touch is soft and sweet and sure and _intimate_ , everything that Jim has been missing for so many years. But that shorts out in the electricity of it, and the sudden surety that Jim isn't the only one who's been having dreams.

Jim's not sure how it happened, but they are standing, in each other's arms, kissing more deeply than he can remember experiencing with anyone else. "What possibilities did you want to explore?" he whispers against Spock's lips.

Spock mouths a trail up Jim's cheek to his ear. "There are five thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two sensations I wish to experience with you."

The voice against Jim's ear quickens him; the words inject and permeate and infuse flesh and psyche. He shivers. "Mm.... Then we'd better start now, don't you think?" He nuzzles slowly up Spock's ear, stopping where it begins to narrow towards a tip, and lowers his voice. "Is this one of those sensations?"

Spock inhales sharply. "No. Two of them."

Jim smiles against Spock's jaw. "I can think of a few I'd like to experience with you...." He kisses his way down that long neck as he draws his hands down Spock's back and slips his fingers under the blue tunic to meet—undershirt. He nips Spock's neck—

"Jim!" Spock writhes, stretching neck and torso backwards in involuntary response.

The feel of Spock's hardness against his impels Jim's arms around Spock's waist and hips, pushing them together in a moment of instinctual thrusting that threatens to end things before they even start. Jim remembers his dream and pulls away a little, achingly hard. "Spock...."

But Spock is also pulling away. "Jim.... I would see thee."

"Me, too." Jim pushes his hands gently under Spock's tunic, lifting it off in a smooth movement. If Spock feels this good through his undershirt, Jim can't wait to remove it and get to the hot, velvety skin underneath.

Spock unties the knot of Jim's sash, slipping his hands into the robe and going straight for the pajama seam.

Jim stops him. "Not like my dream. I want to remember how I got naked with you."

Spock's face journeys through six and a half different expressions, the last of which is a barely controlled desire that sends Jim into a frenzy of want. Spock pushes the robe off with a control that Jim can feel in waves through the space between them – where there is space between them.

Jim pulls the hem of Spock's undershirt out of the perfectly fitted trousers and pushes his hands under it, control all but escaping him as he touches Spock's skin and feels Spock's gasp. He pulls the garment off, mouth instantly latched to that beautifully, inexplicably hairy chest, nipping, tasting, teasing Spock into a matching frenzy, giving Spock enough space to unfasten the pajama top seam. It is his turn to gasp when Spock removes it and they are chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin, arms enfolding and exploring sinew and muscle swell and dip and nerve.

And then Spock is walking him backwards towards the bed, the movement rubbing them together in a way that requires all Jim's control, earned through his vast sexual experience, to avoid coming in his pants.

Jim fumbles with Spock's waistband, loosening the catch and pulling down the zipper only to feel the heat and rapid throb of Spock's underwear-clad penis bulging out of the opening. He cups it in his hand, imagining the weight of it before tracing its outline up and around. There is silence as he performs his torment, his mouth open against Spock's. "How many sensations now?" he breathes into Spock.

"Two hundred and seventy-seven," Spock murmurs as he pushes Jim onto the bed.

Jim takes quick advantage and pushes Spock's trousers down.

Spock steps neatly out, leaving him clad only in boots and underpants, which Jim thinks is enough to cause a warp engine failure. Spock reaches for Jim's pajama bottoms.

Jim pushes Spock's hands away. "Boots off, first. Then it's a fair fight."

Spock complies, trembling. It takes an eternal five seconds.

Jim grasps Spock's hips and pulls him forwards, mouthing and kissing his abdomen and navel before dipping lower and kissing the still-clad cock, slipping his hands beneath the waistband and pushing the underpants down and away.

Spock naked has always been a worthy sight. Spock naked and aroused is something Jim never dared think he'd actually see, and didn't actually let himself see in his dream. And even though he's known Spock for nearly three years, and knows that the man is Vulcan, he's surprised by the fact that the fully engorged penis jutting out at him is flushed a deep jade-green instead of red.

At least, Jim hopes it's fully engorged. Anything more, and Jim isn't sure he could get a hand comfortably around it, never mind anything else. Nonetheless, the sight is enough to send him so close to the edge that he has to press his hand down hard on his own arousal to stave off a premature orgasm.

But then Spock growls, "Enough!" and bears Jim down onto his back, stripping the pajama bottoms slowly off. "I have waited for thee two years, ten months, eleven days, sixteen hours, thirty-two—"

Jim shuts off the litany with a deep, gluttonous kiss and pulls Spock all the way on top of him, lining up their cocks and thrusting up hard against him, and then he's gone.

The kiss lasts until their thrusts are so hard and breath so ragged that they can't manage it anymore. And then everything burns off and all he can feel is _skin_ and _sex_ and _Spock_ and _this is everything I want_.

Spock's cock is heavy, hard velvet against Jim's groin and belly, Spock's muscles steely and vulnerable in his arms, ecstatic breath balm against his skin, rough voice elixir in his ears.

And then Jim wraps a hand around Spock's penis, pulling and teasing and feeling Spock thrust even harder into the tightness of it.

Spock stiffens, suddenly, and a slow, hard gasp accompanies a burst of hot wetness that bathes Jim's hand and skin.

Jim's thumb brushes Spock's slit, and the pulse of semen against it sends him into his own orgasm as he comes hard against Spock's belly.

It takes some time for Jim to come back to himself. When he does, it is to Spock's openly anxious calling of his name. He reaches sloppily for Spock's face. "It's all right, Spock. I'm not in a coma." He smiles with as much wickedness as he can manage. "Not quite." He pulls Spock down for a languid, utterly luxurious kiss. "Want to share the shower and clean up?" He eyes Spock up and down with blatant appreciation.

"That would represent at least two hundred and eighty-four more of the sensations I wish to experience with you."

Jim gazes into Spock's eyes. "At this rate, we'll have run out of sensations you want to experience with me by the end of the week, Mister."

Spock's penis twitches against Jim's thigh. "You ignore the likelihood of more possibilities having developed since our sexual initiation."

Jim pushes his own reawakening cock against Spock's heated skin. "Oh? Just how many more do you wish to explore?"

"At this time, I wish to experience one million, seven hundred and fifty-two thousand, nine hundred and seventeen new sensations with you. And I want to repeat what we have experienced so far today. But I must warn you that I have not yet finished cataloguing my desires. With your permission, I intend to keep you highly occupied for the foreseeable future."

Jim smiles up at Spock through glazed eyes. "Permission granted!" And then he caresses Spock's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Spock," he says, softly.

Spock kisses him with a tenderness Jim should have expected but didn't. "Merry Christmas, t'hy'la."

Jim returns the kiss with a tenderness of his own, and a realization that even though he doesn't know what the word means, his life just got a lot more complicated. He thinks he's going to be fine with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The full prompt was as follows:
> 
> "Jim is seriously injured in an ambush and is in a coma. While there, he dreams he wakes up and his unrequited love for Spock is suddenly returned when Spock thought he'd lost Jim. Then Christmas day he wakes up for real and finds it was only a dream. Somehow, Spock figures things out."


End file.
